


you're still the same.

by lannisnow



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 22:35:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1243048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannisnow/pseuds/lannisnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>set after the events of 1x03; vane threatened anne and jack both. they find ways to de-stress.</p>
<p>(porn without plot, basically.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're still the same.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saltwife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltwife/gifts).



> shameless pwp??? im so sorry.

They’re alone and Jack thanks every lucky star that has ever graced the night sky they are. With a temper as unpredictable as Anne’s, he’s still unsure how they both managed to escape the lovely Miss Guthrie’s wrath unscathed. Especially after Charles’ attempt at threatening Anne’s life.

With Charles, Jack rarely feels powerless. His captain has such a small brain and such a large head that with a simple spar of words Jack manages to seize control of an entire operation while Vane is confident every stroke of genius was his own. Tonight he is not so lucky in this - Jack is rarely lucky in confrontations with large crowds and scornful women - and Charles has threatened the life of not only Anne but Jack as well.

“‘Move and you die’,” Anne mimics, pacing everso slightly in Jack’s peripheral vision. He is purposefully not looking towards her and instead staring at the side of the (very open and very public) tent they reside under. Once Anne has his attention, he’s rarely able to hear the end of it, and he has a feeling she knows she has his attention. “He threatened me.”

“Yes, he did.” Jack needs something to distract himself with, something tactile. If it was daylight out he would wander around the town and find something to help. The only thing he’d find now, in the dead of night, is a knife to the abdomen or a gun barrel to the forehead. Too unfortunate, really.

“He threatened you, too, you know. Both of us.”

This is really the most he’s heard Anne speak in a while. Probably since the last time some no-name threatened her and she ripped his cock off. She enjoys that. Really, she does. He can see the way she lights up after she gets to bend the crew into shape. She wouldn’t mind bending him into shape right now, either.

“Yes, well.” He swats half-heartedly at a fly buzzing around his face. Anne all by growls beside him.

“You don’t care, do you? That he threatened you? Vane?”

“Vane’s threats are almost always empty, darling,” Jack says as calmly as he can. His mind ticks slowly around in his skull, tries to wrap around what Charles may or may not think of doing.

He does have an opium habit. That could always pop again when Jack least needs it to. It has in the past. An opium habit and an inability to concoct a plan to get his ship back in his name. Charles Vane is so _fucking_ useless.

“Jack,” Anne says, her voice low enough that Jack almost ignores her in favor of his own mind.

“Yes?” he asks as he turns his head, his eyes met with a coat on the floor, several layers piled lazily around the ground, and a very naked Anne. “Oh. Hm. This again?” It’s not entirely a surprise. Anne is always itching for a fuck when she’s angry. Jack sees it as a strike of luck that she comes to him each time. It would be too easy for her to go to someone else.

He’s smiling when she says, “Get in bed,” and smiling still when he reaches for his belt. His traitorous mind skips out of his tent while he fights with a button, wonders momentarily if the whore was brought somewhere safe or if he’ll not get laid again after this until she’s taken care of properly.

Truth be told, he’s thinking up until the point where he’s shed everything but his innermost shirt and his pants are only unlaced, and his hair is yanked roughly down, until his mouth lands slack-jawed on Anne’s pussy.

When he’d first met Anne, he hadn’t been a fan of this. It wasn’t a way he’d ever been with a woman - however, most of them had been hookers he’d fucked and thrown a piece of eight to over his shoulder as he left. The first time, Anne was demanding and rough and pushed him on the bed and rode his face until she’d found completion, and Jack watched her come apart from just his tongue and found himself addicted in a way he hadn’t realized he was able.

Jack found it easier to think when he had his body occupied.

Anne is quiet with Jack. The most noise she makes are in the small breaths and delicate sighs that Jack knows the whole island thinks she is incapable of. But her body speaks for her. Her fingers dig in Jack’s hair, her hips roll herself onto his tongue, her jaw flickers under her skin as it clenches and releases. If he does what he’s supposed to, she’ll bite her bottom lip and throw her head back onto her pillow, instead of keeping her eyes steady on his.

Jack wastes no time and throws himself into his work, his hands finding Anne’s thighs to pull them apart, his tongue delving between her lips and rolling flat over her clit. Her hips buck gently and Jack grins. He presses harder with his tongue, sliding her clit down the middle, chasing her heat. She bucks harder and sighs above him and he lowers his head.

Making Anne come is not a hard thing to do, he’s discovered. Generally the right friction with his fingers and his tongue relentless on her clit, she falls apart in mere minutes. But Anne has told him she likes it when he takes his time. Likes it when he works harder for it and makes her hold on longer. He dips his tongue inside, tastes musk and salt and Anne. His eyes falter closed and he concentrates, chases her taste, presses his lips closer to her, digs his tongue inside her until the grip on his hair is trying to pull him impossibly closer. He pulls a hand down to join, a finger sliding alongside his tongue in slow, lazy thrusts.

One finger makes Anne frustrated above him, her nails starting to scratch at his scalp, so he adds a second in retaliation, a third and he removes his tongue when she yanks him closer.

“Be nice,” he snides, before busying his tongue on her clit again, glaring at her from between her own legs. She replies with a glare and a twist of her hand in his hair. He can feel the twist in his scalp and jams his fingers into her in retaliation. She jumps and her fingers loosen, her head falls back and she quakes. She comes full force around his fingers.

Her hips roll on his mouth. He lets her ride him through, placing carefully timed flicks of his tongue across her clit just to watch her shake from too much, feels her squeeze around his fingers and rolls his hand with her shaking hips.

“Feel better?” Jack asks as he rests his chin on Anne’s thigh. Anne runs her fingers through his hair and nods towards the ceiling. “I suppose you wouldn’t want to return the favor?” he asks, rubbing his cheek on the inside of her thigh just to feel it tremble when the stubble he’s neglected to shave entirely off scratches against her skin. She’s sensitive and malleable like this. How Jack likes her the most.

Anne lifts her head to stare down at Jack. He feels as though he spends a lot of his time being stared down by Anne, being watched and calculated and filed away deep in parts of her mind he’d like to get his hands on.

“Why don’t you go find Vane,” she states, rather than asks, and lays back down, her fingers playing idle shapes into his hair. Jack sighs and adjusts himself in his pants against the bed; he’s only half-hard and that’s nothing the thought of dealing with Vane can’t get rid of.

“Tease,” Jack says after a pregnant pause, pushing himself up just enough to bite at Anne’s ribs before he rolls off the bed. “I do suppose Charles is a more _pressing_ matter.” He sighs and straightens his shirt, laces his pants back up while he’s at it and searches the floor for his belt. His chin feels wet and when he wipes it off with his shirt sleeve Anne chuckles behind him.

“You know,” Jack says, spinning to stare down at Anne, stretched on their bed like a sated cat, “I do expect to come back at some point, and when that happens, I would like a fuck?” Anne blinks lazily up at Jack as though every word is processed at half-speed before humming and rolling her shoulders.

“I’ll think about it,” Anne says before rolling over, turning her back to him and the outside world. Jack has half a mind to throw a blanket over her, or at least her swords, but leaves her to fend for herself. He doubts anyone would try anything tonight as it stands. And if they do, well.

He’s sure Anne has other ways to relieve her stress.


End file.
